Mental Health
by Mione'sMinion
Summary: The Mind Menagerie is a safe place...a place that the terrorized and plagued wizarding populace could seek solace and mental healthcare. Hermione has been struggling with memories of the war, and to fully get over it, she has to face more than she ever thought she could...big thanks to my beta, and my sister, ZombiAlli!
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

"Hello. My name is Hermione Granger, and I'm a war veteran. I'm also a victim of PTSD." The polished lines rolled from her tongue, and as the polite claps faded, so did her script.

She had thought about what she'd say today, but she hadn't been able to form the words beforehand. However, seeing _him_ here, in the place she'd decided could help anyone, fueled her words.

"I first started seeking help almost a year after Voldemort fell. The nightmares were horrible. I didn't sleep, I wouldn't eat. I lost my job and I no longer had a family. I had no one. Or at least I felt like it. Then, one day out of the blue, it got worse. I started seeing her during the day. _Bellatrix_ _Lestrange_. I'd round a corner and see a glimpse of wild curly hair and hear her shrill cackle. And then it escalated to . . . to me seeing her in any curly headed witches face, to seeing her in the mirror. So one day after a particularly hard afternoon—I'd covered every reflective surface in my house, spray painted doorknobs, cloths over mirrors—and that one day I decided I was going to change that—to make myself feel better. I stood in the bathroom, and I cut my hair."

At this, she fingered the ends of her short hair. It was to her chin, and some kind of mousse seemed to keep it from being an afro of bushiness.

"It was much shorter than it is now. I actually pretty much shaved my head. And, then, when I looked in the mirror, I didn't see her . . . But then I truly saw _myself_—and let me just say that then I felt worse. I had lost weight, weight that I'm still struggling to bring up. I had deep circles under my eyes, almost bruises, and my eyes themselves were dull and listless. I looked _dead_."

She took a deep shuddering breath and everyone watched as a tear fell down her face.

"And I realized I truly wanted to be—dead, that is. So, not for the first time, I thought about taking my life. But at that time, I didn't care that my friends would find me hours, days, or even a week or two later. I didn't mind inconveniencing the landlord with my leftover things, or my _body_, or the _mess_. I didn't care that the man who was in love with me would lose me, because to me, I was already gone."

She sniffed and bowed her head a moment, wiping her hands under her golden brown eyes. Even now, they had circles beneath them.

With her head still bowed and her hands covered her face, she spoke so quietly that her audience struggled to hear her.

"That night, after a couple glasses of wine and scribing a note of farewell, I took a bath, grabbed a razor blade, and I slit my wrists."

She let her confession hang in the air for a moment.

"My best friend found me. You've all probably heard of him—Ron Weasley." There were nods and a few claps.

"It wasn't very much after. I heard him come in, felt him lifting me from the water, could feel his sobs and panic as he gathered my naked body, _apologizing_ to me for not being there, promising if I didn't make it, he'd be right behind me."

She held her head up, and everyone could see the tears had stopped falling.

"After I woke up in St. Mungo's, Ron wouldn't leave my side until I agreed to get help. So now I'm here. I've been here fighting my demons for the last nine months. Some things are better, some things aren't—but nothing is worse, which is always a win. I'm well rehearsed with fighting—with war—but this is a whole new ballgame. The one you're fighting here is yourself. I've seen people come in, and get well enough to leave in the time I've been here. There are also people here that have been here longer than I, and might be here after I leave. There is no set timeline for this. You will need to be infinitely patient. Knowing the cause of something is only the beginning, but at least we have that—the chance to make things better. Some people don't get that—I almost didn't. So, good luck fighting your demons, and if you ever need to talk to anyone, my door is always open. As you can see, l still have trouble sleeping."

She pointed to the circles under her eyes and as she exited from behind the podium, she was surrounded by the sound of clapping, and even a whistle.

She smiled, but it didn't seem to reach her eyes.

When Shawna, the Chief Counselor, had asked Hermione to lead this months welcome meeting, she'd been very apprehensive. It was, however, a requirement to be allowed visitors. It was well beyond time for her to explain herself to Harry, Ginny, and especially Ron.

As Shawna wrapped her in a hug, she congratulated Hermione on her bravery and her candor. Everyone in group therapy had been very curious about Hermione's issues. She'd only speak openly about her feelings—she'd said nothing about why or how she'd ended up there.

Private therapy was going very well, but Mind Healer Jacob and Hermione were at an impasse. He insisted she needed to confront her demons—that she needed to speak with those present during her torture, to confront them for not helping her even though she knew they couldn't have.

Long story short, she refused.

As she greeted the newcomers of The Mind Menagerie, Hermione was overcome with a sense of camaraderie. Each and every person here had issues not completely dissimilar to her own. She could be open here. She didn't have to pretend, didn't have to be lauded and pressed upon to uphold her war hero status. She was just recovering, as they all were trying to do.

Hermione had made a very close friend since becoming a resident of The Mind Menagerie, another woman with PTSD. Carol was a domestic abuse victim. She and her boyfriend had been together since her teen years, but he hadn't become violent until after they'd been married a few years. It started small at first—finger shaped bruises, a shove here and a violent hair pull there. His quickly developing alcoholism just made things worse, and soon it escalated to black eyes and broken bones.

When she'd fallen pregnant a year and a half ago, Paul, her husband, had been ecstatic. And since it somehow made him happy enough to leave her alone and seemed to recover his love for his wife, Carol thanked the gods that she'd fallen pregnant. She was sure he would be a doting dad and, since he was drinking less, maybe he'd even remain the loving husband she'd always wished he had stayed.

Just before she hit her ninth month, Paul had come home early on a Friday, hoping to take her out for a fancy dinner to celebrate a promotion. She'd been laughing at a joke of the landlords when he'd opened the door to their apartment building, and then he'd snapped. Seeing her laughing and smiling with another man—albeit a portly older man—had sent him into a rage, and as soon as he had ushered Carol into their apartment, he'd turned and backhanded her. After she'd fallen to the floor, he'd done the one thing he'd never done before—he'd raised his wand to her.

She still suffered seizures from the after effects of the cruciatus, and her womb still burned with loss. She was the only witch Hermione had ever met that had lost everything in one day. Sometimes, Hermione felt guilty for being so much worse off than someone that had actually lost, versus how she herself had lost a few friends, but none compared to the loss of a child. Her parents weren't dead, not really; they just didn't know she existed. She still had her best friends and her surrogate family, minus one Mr. Fred Weasley.

Carol had lost her home, her husband, her magic, and her unborn daughter all in the same day. Hermione had lost her mind, over something seemingly small and insignificant.

One thing this place had taught her was that nothing was small and insignificant if it made you feel the way she'd felt—the way she still felt sometimes.

She struggled to commit the new faces to memory with their names and her lips twisted a little as her internal bookworm berated her. In truth, it had been quite a long time since she'd studied more so than read.

There were a few of her fellow schoolmates rehabilitating—Dennis Creevey, Oliver Wood, Pansy Parkinson, and Luna Lovegood.

Dennis was burdened with the death of his brother, and held an unhealthy attachment to his camera. He'd worked for the Department of Games for two months until he had come upon his boss playing with his brothers camera. He'd had a mental breakdown, physically attacking his boss and screaming until the aurors had managed to sedate him. He'd been here 15 months, having been admitted just 4 months after the fall of Voldemort. He had one step left until he'd be released. One more thing to do to let his brother go.

Oliver Woods house had been attacked and he'd come home to find his mother torn apart, her heart pinned to the wall with a cross. She'd been a rather prominent muggleborn writer for Witch Weekly, cross examining the similarities and differences between muggle and wizard cultures. His father had allowed his son to take care of everything for the funeral, and then, as his mother's casket was remanded to his father's family tomb, Jonathan Wood had avada'd himself. This had in turn led to Oliver joining the Order, and as he'd fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, he'd also lost his sight. He was a newer arrival. He'd been here two months. When they'd first wheeled him in, he'd stunk of shite and piss. His landlord had come to investigate. After his money had run out, he couldn't pay rent and he hadn't anyone to help him, to teach him to do things while blind. He hadn't wanted to learn anyhow. He seemed to now. He was keeping clean at least, and he was sharing in therapy.

Pansy Parkinson, due to her father's failure, had been given the dark mark alongside Draco Malfoy, and had been given the _honor_ of eliminating Minerva McGonagall. When she'd failed, without even putting forth any effort, she'd been thrown like meat to the death eaters. She'd been sliced and whipped, skinned and raped. They'd permanently magicked her hair away, and although she wore a wig, you could tell her eyebrows were drawn on with an eye crayon. You only ever saw the skin of her face. She wore trousers and long sleeved shirts, and she always accessorized with gloves and a scarf. She'd been at The Mind Menagerie a little less than a year, and the only person she had a nice word for was Luna.

Luna had been there since they'd found her in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor directly after the battle. She wouldn't speak to anyone but Pansy about what had happened, but everyone knew they'd had a few run ins during their abuse. Luna's home and all of her belongings—except for her radish earrings and ring—were destroyed after her capture. Her earrings had been snatched from her ears sometime during her imprisonment, her torn lobes permanently scarred. The standard patients clothes, a grey sweatsuit, covered most of her scars, but, as in Hogwarts, all of her shoes seemed to disappear, confounding the staff immensely. She was missing two toes on her right foot and one on her left. She walked with a largely noticeable limp, and she stared into space most of the time, but she had let Pansy read a poem of hers in group a few days ago, and then she'd read a few pages from a book after dinner. She'd always sat in the large recliner swallowed by the comforter from her bed, staring listlessly out the window. A behavioral change, in this case, was more than welcomed.

As Hermione came to the end of the long line of newcomers, beginning to feel a little too exposed, her eyes widened as the next hand to grab hers was encased in tight leather. Lucius Malfoy's liquid voice washed over Hermione, and she shivered. Although she could hear his voice clearly, the soft timbre almost too familiar, his words seemed to come too slowly, as though they passed underwater. His other hand gripped the top of his serpent cane tightly, and as his blue grey eyes met hers, she felt her heart race.

She flung herself back, clawing and straining away from him, pressing herself into the corner, screeching, "We didn't take anything! I swear! We found it! We found it!"


	2. Chapter Two

"And in the end, they had to sedate her, yes?"

"She had begun to claw herself. Yes, she was fully sedated." Lucius Malfoy said stiffly.

"How did it make you feel, Lucius?"

"Mr. Malfoy." He insisted, fighting the urge to tug his too tight cravat.

It was stifling in this place—a far sight more uncomfortable than Malfoy Manor, the home which he'd sequestered himself to for the last couple years.

After the war had been won, his family had been pardoned because of their roles in the Dark Lords defeat. His son had refused to identify Harry Potter when snatchers had presented them to the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor. His wife had lied to their tyrant, pronouncing Harry Potter dead. But Lucius? Well, Lucius simply hadn't fought in the final battle, instead searching frantically for his child, deflecting spells as necessary.

He wasn't allowed a wand now, but he could still use magic wandlessly and wordlessly. He just couldn't perform very powerful spells.

It wasn't a mystery why he'd been pardoned. He'd thrown enough money at the Ministry of Magic to rebuild Hogwarts, and then a spare. At first he'd been waiting for the heat on the Malfoy family to die down before venturing beyond the walls of the manor, but as time passed and his wife died, he saw little point in leaving his ancestral home. He deserved to sit there and rot.

His son, bearing far too much Black in his blood, had appointed himself as the patriarch of the Malfoy family, and by that time Lucius was happy to have everything off of his plate—happy to let his mind wither. What he hadn't realized was that Draco, the brat, would withhold funds and his house elves, subsequently making his father's self imprisonment intolerable.

He'd finally agreed to go to the Mind Menagerie after the wine cellar at Malfoy Manor had been emptied. He'd survived on vitamin potions and alcohol, in a filthy home—well, filthy by Malfoy standards—for six months. Severus, his longest living friend, had acquiesced to sending more vitamin potions but had drawn the line at Lucius' seven owls asking—begging—for any libations, sending a howler that exploded with a booming 'NO!'

"Mr. Malfoy, then. I apologize." MH Jacob said tightly. He was a mousy man with large glasses perched precariously at the end of his small nose. He kept pushing them up, and his mouth was currently pinched in annoyance.

"How did it make you feel?" He repeated.

"I felt nothing." Lucius rolled his eyes. Why waste manners on this troglodyte?

"Nothing? Surely you mustn't have felt nothing for the girl? For the situation?" Jacob penned a couple lines onto his notepad, and Lucius cringed at such prominent use of muggle items.

"I felt…uncomfortable for the situation. That is all."

"Uncomfortable! See, now that's certainly a feeling. In what way did it make you feel uncomfortable?"

"Must you ask such impertinent questions?! I felt uncomfortable due to the fact that everyone in the whole wizarding world knows that my sister-in-law tortured Miss Granger in my home as I and my family looked on." His voice was clipped and harsh, and his cheeks were slightly red.

As he'd reintroduced himself to Miss Granger, intending to thank her for her honesty and apologize for his part in the creation of her demon, she seemed to have suffered a setback in her care. Screaming and clawing her face, tugging the short hair about her head, trying to press herself further and further into the corner, she seemed to have been reliving the fear, the terror.

In his opinion, the mind healers and counselors had moved far too slowly. In the time it took for them to sedate her, Miss Granger has gouged a set of new wounds on her face, clawing down her jawline as she screamed, _"We didn't take anything!"_

"You were embarrassed, Mr. Malfoy. It's alright to say so."

"What have I to be embarrassed about, Mind Healer Jacob? I did not hurt Miss Granger, and I never have."

"Mr. Malfoy…surely you realize that seeing you must've been quite the trigger for Herm—for Miss Granger."

"Well of course it must have been. I, however, fail to see any fault of my own, as I was, at the time, held hostage in my own home."

"Yes, let us talk about your home."

"Is _this_ what the muggles call therapy? I must say, I'm not very impressed." Lucius leaned back against the chair, fingers idly petting his serpent cane, the small metal tongue flitting out to lick his index finger. Mind Healer Jacob shuddered at the sight.

The Mind Menagerie was a fairly new thing to the wizarding world—along with mind healing and counseling in general. Many people hadn't wanted to give it a chance, and most pureblooded families still hadn't even considered breathing in the direction of the large sign boasting its amenities and services.

It was a secret kept location, and it held many things Lucius thought he could enjoy, but therapy wasn't one of them.

He sniffed in disdain, tossing his long flaxen hair over his shoulder. The mind healer was talking. What had he said?

"—not ready to accept help and treatment, that's perfectly fine—we will get you there—but please don't belittle our work. We've helped a lot of people, Mr. Malfoy, including Minister Shaklebot and Molly Weasley."

"Yes, I had heard you won't turn anyone away, even if they couldn't pay. But your business was more than happy to ask my family for more galleons than the average patient." His lip curled at the word, loathing the fact that he was lumped into that description as well.

Healer Jacob blushed. "I'm not at liberty to know, and especially not to discuss, anyone in the buildings financials."

He harrumphed. "I'm done here. May I see myself out?"

The small boned mind healer sighed. "Yes, please sign out on your way out of my office."

As Lucius Malfoy exited the small room, he waved his fingers slightly and his name appeared in a beautiful script on the sign out book, directly beneath a Miss Hermione Grangers, but he didn't know that. He hadn't looked.

His 'room', to use the term loosely, was more of a closet, and a small one at that. His shoe closet at home could've fit three of these rooms inside of it. Lucius wondered why they couldn't make use of undetectable extension charms to make the rooms larger.

It held a small single bed, a nightstand, a small dresser, and a tiny desk. There was no chair, as the room was so small that anyone could sit at the end of the bed and write at the desk comfortably.

The house elves that cared for the business and its inhabitants had already seen fit to put his clothes away in the small closet area. It was just a rail along the wall behind the door and he grimaced at the plastic hangers that hung his beautiful five thousand galleon robes.

The drawers held him scarves and hair ribbons, socks and shorts, and the last drawer held his photos.

His scowl dropped as a trembling hand lifted the photo on the top of the pile, and he stepped back with it, only to hit the back of his knees and fall onto the top of the bed.

His lovely wife smiled at him, her hair piled on the top of her head in an elegant updo. He'd taken the picture on their fifth wedding anniversary. She was wearing the silver gown he'd bought her, and as he watched, she stepped back and twirled. When she came full circle, she moved forward with her painted shiny lips pursed. She tapped her mouth with her index finger playfully, and then the photo replayed anew.

A drop of water fell onto his wife's dress, and it was then that he realized he was crying.

He quickly wiped his eyes, and even though he knew he was alone, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching. He put the picture on the nightstand, spelling it to stand up straight, and then he laid on the cheap bed, glad he'd thought to ask Draco to send silk sheets. Even thinking of his meticulous mane touching a microfiber pillowcase made him shudder.

He napped on and off until dinner, and when he heard the chime that meant it's been served, he busied himself with brushing and tying back his hair. The wave of his hand left his robes wrinkle free and pressed. Even in this mental health facility, he wouldn't allow anyone to see him as anything other than the man he'd always presented himself as.

Even if he wasn't. He didn't think anyone was the same after the last few years.

Sure, some people had moved on. His own son hadn't married yet, but he'd been dating Astoria Greengrass for the better part of the last year. Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley had settled down, rebuilding his family's ancestral home in Godric's Hollow. They were currently expecting baby number two if the gossip rags were to be believed.

Lucius eyed his ham and scalloped potatoes and sniffed delicately. He'd always wanted a couple more kids, despising having grown up alone. He'd never told Narcissa how much he'd wanted a larger family, knowing how terrified she'd been when she was pregnant with Draco. They'd had three miscarriages and a stillbirth before one had stuck, even if he'd been born small and slightly unhealthy. After he'd arrived, the healers had advised against any more pregnancies for Narcissa's safety. Lucius, having loved his wife more than anything save for their new babe, has heartily agreed, even if Narcissa herself had not.

At her insistence, they'd tried once more, and that, too, had ended in miscarriage and Narcissa fighting for her life.

He was brought from his thoughts by the sound of a bowl slamming down and looked up to see Pansy Parkinson sitting down across from him.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy. You remember Luna Lovegood?" She gestured to the tiny blonde at her side, but the girl had yet to sit down. The bowl in her hands trembled and a small amount of soup slopped over the side, wetting the tips of her fingers. Her blue eyes flitted this way and that, never quite landing on anything, and the fear in her expression surprised him.

"Luna...it's safe. He wasn't—Mr. Malfoy didn't—he wasn't a part of it, Luna. I promise."

She met the dark haired girls gaze, and nodded once before she sat her bowl down, and then she sat as closely to her as she could, pausing to lick her fingers clean of the soup before digging into her meal. He was surprised to see her eating with gusto, given how small the girl was.

"My condolences on the death of your wife, Mr. Malfoy."

He dropped the spoon that's been halfway to his mouth. "Thank you, Miss Parkinson. My condolences on the loss of your father."

"No need. He was a miserable waste of space."

Lucius, who'd been sipping his pumpkin juice, choked slightly. A hand appeared, thumping his back lightly, and after he finished coughing, he turned to see who had come to his aid.

His eyes fell on a stocky ginger who smiled in his direction, flashing teeth as white as his eyes. If you looked closely, you could see that he had a pupil and iris, but they were such a white that they blended in with his sclera. The skin surrounding his eyes was badly scarred, the skin crisscrossing I've his lids, visible when he blinked.

He held a walking stick in one hand and with the hand that'd been beating Lucius' back, he reached back for someone else's hand. A small asian woman appeared at his side.

"So who did I help?" The ginger asked.

Pansy snickered. "Oliver Wood, meet Lucius Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy, this is Oliver Wood."


	3. Chapter Three

Time passed quickly in solitary confinement. They didn't like it to be referred to as that, but that's what it was.

A large padded room, a straight jacket covered with magic cancelling runes, and a small stream of water from the ceiling that disappeared before it reached the floor.

Hermione was familiar with it all, having suffered multiple setbacks in her care. She was at the point now that she knew more setbacks would come, and she was content with it, because she knew she would get better. Eventually.

What she wasn't content with was sitting in that fucking room with nothing to look at or listen to, just the sound of her own heart beating. Even the magical stream didn't make a noise. She'd been drugged—she could tell by the taste of vinegar in her mouth, on her tongue.

The haziness that had engulfed her mind faded slowly, and by the time her head was clear, Hermione had opened her eyes to see that, again, they hadn't respected her wishes.

After one of her violent outbursts, she had requested to merely be shackled to her bed in her single room. She spent two weeks researching and constructing the correct runes onto the ones in her room. Honestly, if they could accomplish the same with a pair of cuffs, why bother with the straight jacket? To Hermione, it just seemed cruel.

She'd had the contracted arithmancer look over her work as she'd come to add runes to another solitary room, and she'd said it was perfect. And even though they'd charged Hermione with the cost of a new pair of cuffs, they'd promised to put the ones she'd altered to use. They'd failed to do so twice now.

She swallowed her anger at The Mind Menageries orderly's incompetence and spoke loudly. "My name is Hermione Granger, age 20, and I'd like a meeting with Chief Counselor Shawna."

It was the only phrase guaranteed to secure a tete-a-tete with one of the counselors, but she wanted to speak to Shawna. She seemed to be the only person that actually listened to Hermione.

She couldn't bring herself to drink from the enchanted fountain, although her mouth was severely dry and foul tasting

After her first breakdown, she'd been secluded to solitary for three days. Three days spent dozing in and out due to the violent nature of her repeated outbursts. There were enchantments on the room that went into effect at the sign of any significant emotional distress. In Hermione's opinion, this impeded the healing process, but something this new to the wizarding world, such as therapy, couldn't be perfect yet.

For once since the war, Hermione knew what she wanted to do. She first wanted to get better, and then she would get her Mind Healing license and her bachelors in psychology, just as Chief Counselor Shawna had. She wanted to help people like herself, like everyone here.

Her cheek twitched, her hair having become quite bushy, tickling her face. She even wanted to help people like Lucius Malfoy. Just not specifically Lucius Malfoy.

She couldn't describe what it was like to see him in their meeting, to know that he was asking for help. In a way she'd been happy to see him there, relieved to see that he was willing to accept a different kind of help, a muggle kind of help, but in the depths of her mind? She was terrified.

She wasn't even quite sure why. He'd never so much as lifted his wand in her direction. But something about looking into his eyes…it'd sent her into a state that wasn't good for anyone. She was only glad she hadn't lashed out at him.

She could feel the tenderness of the skin on her face and jaw from her claw marks. They'd already been healed of course, but they still smarted. Due to the use of muggle tranquilizers, they didn't use full strength potions and salves, and so she'd likely scar a bit as well. Her chest tightened slightly, mourning once again for her once unmarked skin. She shook the feeling away quickly. She was a warrior. Her scars showed her wounds from battle, and now in the life after.

She felt exceedingly foolish—downright dumb, actually, but she knew that recovery sometimes didn't make sense. She only knew this because it'd been drilled into her brain by Mind Healer Jacob.

She didn't really like him, but he wasn't completely unintelligent. He'd assisted her in a number of things—just last week they'd called her parents together. They asked if the Wilkins were happy with their mobile carrier. Well, after her mother had answered, Healer Jacob had asked. Hermione had sat in his brown leather chair and sobbed quietly into her napkin.

After they'd gotten off of the telephone, he'd asked if she wanted to know about them—to hear about what their life was like now, and what they liked to do. Apparently it was okay to not completely block them from her life, it was healthier to dwell than to ignore. She'd given a huge emphatic 'YES'.

The private investigator was due back in a week, and her eyes burned as she thought about them. What were they doing? Did they live in the same house she'd chosen for them? Did they have friends? Did they somehow feel empty, or maybe even less complete, without her in their lives, the same way she felt without them? Could they feel the loss of their daughter as keenly as she could feel theirs? Or had they moved on? Could they not tell? Were they glad they had no children?

Hermione couldn't decide which was worse, and shut her eyes as a few tears leaked from them. She sat back against the wall.

Just as she almost fell asleep, boredom almost a lullaby at this point, a quarter panel in the wall to her right opened. In walked none other than the woman she'd requested a meeting with.

"Sorry it took a while, Hermione. I was seeing B dorm for their weekly counseling sessions. How are you feeling?" She was a dark skinned woman with a thick waist and long salt and pepper hair knotted into braids.

"Like I want a shower and a run. Can I get out of here please?" She leaned forward eagerly.

Chief Counselor Shawna sat cross legged across from Hermione and waved her wand to release her from the jacket. She tilted her head to the side. "If you see Lucius Malfoy, will you try to harm yourself again?"

"I'm...honestly unsure." She held her hands up in a placating gesture. "I don't know what about him set me off. Only that it did. Maybe…he could be moved to a different dorm?"

Shawna winced. "Hermione, I'm going to be honest with you. C dorm is the only dorm with an empty single room. Mr. Malfoy has paid quite handsomely for a single room and his privacy. I'm not sure we can relocate him, and due to your night terrors you must remain in a single room."

She made to interrupt, and Shawna cut her off, shuffling through the papers in Hermione's file. "It says here that Mind Healer Jacob has requested you confront your…demons, so to speak. Why have you refused to allow the opportunity to speak to these people in a safe place, in therapy?"

Her amber eyes flashed. "Because Mind Healer Jacob keeps pushing and I'm simply not ready! I don't have any issues with Harry and Ron concerning that day! I forgave Draco before it even happened, and the Malfoys were 'held hostage' and they'll maintain that until they die so why bother? And everyone else is dead!" She exclaimed.

"Narcissa Malfoy is also dead."

Her face was one of total surprise, brow lifting and her mouth falling open. "But—" she began, only to be interrupted again.

"She got cancer, completely ignored it until the very end, and died a tragic early death. She and her husband were in the beginning stages of agoraphobia, and since then Lucius has faced it alone. You know a thing or two about being alone, don't you?" Shawna's mouth was a mix between a grimace and a smile—it probably wasn't wise to speak about Mrs. Malfoy to Hermione. Her outburst may have seemed irrational, but it wasn't. Next time she saw Mr. Malfoy, Shawna hoped Hermione saw what she had in his entry meeting—a sad, emotionally repressed villainized man.

Hermione's chest tightened. "I-I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. She passed six months ago while you were here. I know you're used to being knowledgeable about things, but, Hermione, you need to accept that you don't know anything about Lucius Malfoy, and learn to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Of course I will! I was glad he was seeking treatment for whatever ailed him, but my reaction wasn't voluntary! I didn't want to react like that in front of everyone!"

"Of course you didn't! I'm very sorry; that wasn't what I meant to imply. I just wanted you to know you'll have to learn to deal with his presence, and I'd like you to strongly consider a joint session."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. Can I leave now?"

Chief Counselor Shawna sighed. "Yes, but Hermione…his room is across from yours. Just thought you should know."

And with that, she stood and left, leaving the door open behind her.

Hermione was, once again, angry. "Chief Counselor Shawna!" She called after the older woman, venturing out into the blue hallways meant to inspire calmness.

"Yes?" Shawna asked, turning.

"I've asked repeatedly not to be remanded to that cell. The cuffs in my room have the same runes as that gods forsaken jacket and I've been assured it's just as secure. Next time my wishes are ignored for no good reason, rest assured the press will hear about it. I've followed all of your other rules perfectly, but I take offense at my very reasonable request being ignored."

Her face dropped. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. A new orderly must have completed your transport. I'll make sure everyone knows to take you to your room next time." Her words sounded sincere and heartfelt, but Hermione didn't care. She was simply…angry.

"Thank you." She said stiffly.

"No problem, Hermione."

She'd been released in just enough time for dinner, and her stomach gurgled with hunger. Their meeting had been before breakfast, and due to her outburst, she'd missed it and lunch.

She stopped just outside of the cafeteria, breathing in and out for several minutes until Pansy had passed, Luna scurrying quickly behind. She swallowed her fear and rushed in after, moving quickly through the dinner line, grabbing a hearty portion of soup and a small slice of cake.

He might not have even been here, right? Maybe he took his dinner in his room? When she finally looked up to scan the room, her eyes found his platinum head immediately.

He was talking with Pansy Parkinson. It was flabbergasting to see Luna had actually been brave enough to get near him, but then again, Luna was an odd duck.

It didn't cause anything more than slight unease, knowing he was there. In fact, it lifted her spirits a little to see he wasn't eating dinner alone. Maybe he'd do well here. Maybe he'd get well quickly and leave.

She'd only tasted her soup when she noticed Oliver's staggered walk veer in Mr. Malfoy's direction as he choked. She also noticed Pansy's smirk just before Oliver punched the former death eater in the face.


	4. Chapter Four

AN: SO SORRY ITS BEEN A WHILE :((( Id like to update 1-2x a week, and I was, and then some major family stuff has kept me from writing altogether. Just before Christmas, we found out my older sister has AML leukemia. Until now, my mom and I have been taking care of my niece and nephew. Let me tell you, it's a whole other world when you have three kids at once 0.0

She got through her first round of chemo by the skin of her teeth—she was close to death. If it weren't for us firing her oncologist and hiring a new one, she would be dead. Medical marijuana helped her to eat and regain enough strength to begin her second round, which she just started two days ago.

If you're here, reading my story, please take just a second to send up a prayer, or just send some good healthy vibes, for my sister.

Again, sorry it's taken me so long to push this chapter out. It HASNT been beta'd yet, so I also apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors.

-Daisy

Ch.4

Smack

Lucius groaned, holding a hand over his nose. Blood poured from underneath it, the red staining his robes.

Seeing Mr. Wood pulling back for another punch, Lucius stumbled to his feet, tripping over the railing of the connected bench. As Oliver's fist caught air, Lucius' bum landed with a thud onto the linoleum.

"What the fuck?! Where is that fucking coward?"

"Ollie, calm down. The orderlies are coming. You know if you're acting this way, you'll get nothing but the isolation room." Pansy said.

Lucius scrambled to his feet, sneering at the newly disabled war victim and his sons childhood girlfriend. At one point he'd hoped she would become the new Mrs. Malfoy, but now he was grateful their relationship had ended.

"That's no less than he'd deserve, Miss Parkinson! Look at my face!" He gestured with his bloody hand.

Before she could speak, Oliver lurched to the side awkwardly, losing grip on his walking stick, and brought each hand in front of him to searching for a landmark. "I haven't deserved any of this, you fucking death eater! Nothing that's happened to me has been deserved or just. Nothing that's happened to anyone here has been! Especially you! You don't even fucking deserve to be alive. You or your ferret of a son!" Spit leapt from his mouth, and his teeth gnashed in his rage. "Justice would be if all you fucking death eaters were rounded up and avada'd!" He screamed.

Lucius had been backing away slowly and quietly, but he stopped short. His face sagged as the feeling of helplessness and pure terror for his child blinded his mind. Draco was everything that he was, everything the Malfoy line culminated into, and although they were at odds currently, Lucius knew he couldn't have asked for a better son. He pulled himself together, straightening his back and wished for just a moment that he'd brought his cane to dinner. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

"My son is the greatest thing in my life. He is my entire legacy. You are your family's last living male heir, Mr. Wood. Would your parents be happy with you acting this way?" He spoke calmly. Everyone in the room was watching with rapt attention, excepting Miss Lovegood, who rapidly glanced between her dinner, the men, and Miss Parkinson.

One Miss Hermione Granger, he noticed, was staring directly at him without pause.

Oliver Wood was bent at the knee, beginning to cry and clutch his face harshly. "My mum, my mum, my poor bloody bloody mum." He groaned. His nurse–Lily, Lucius noted from her nametag–was helping him to sit on the bench closest to him. Tears fell from his milky eyes, scarred over with pink. The battle had been so long ago, and yet his injuries looked fresh. Had the boy done that to himself?

Mr. Wood sat directly across from Miss Granger. Lucius recalled her penchant for justice and winced. He wasnt sure he could deal with two assaults in one day, upon his person or otherwise. He ached for the calmness of Manor.

By the time the orderlies and Chief Counselor Shawna arrived, Lucius had fled the scene, leaving his tray, food hardly touched, opting for the confinement of his sad, small room. At this time, it was his only safe place.

When Chief Counselor Shawna let herself into his room, she was surprised to see him sitting erect at the foot of his bed.

"Mr. Malfoy–" she began.

"I've packed my bag." Lucius cut in, steel grey meeting dark brown. "You may keep my...donation. I am going home." His voice was quiet.

"Mr. Malfo—Lucius." At his arched brow, Shawna snapped, "Oh hush, if you're leaving anyhow what's the difference?"

She perched perpendicular to Lucius, sitting gently and stiffly on the edge of the bed.

"Oliver Wood has a lot to be upset over, Lucius, and I hope you can understand that he's just trying to work through his issues, same as you. He's haunted, Lucius, and he's blind, and he's angry."

At the tensing of his shoulder against hers, she hastened to add, "That's not to say that what he did and how he acted should be excused. We've taken his courtyard privileges, and I can assure you that if there is a repeat occurrence, he will be moved to a different wing."

"I do not wish for him to be punished. I only wish to go home. He will be free to recover unencumbered by my presence. Miss Granger as well."

"If you want to go home, Lucius, no one can stop you. But I want you to think of the goals you set for yourself this morning. Those things are never going to happen if you leave. You won't be able to go to your sons wedding, you won't regain your seat on the Wizengamot, or the Board of Directors of Hogwarts, you'll never see your family in Paris, and your worst feat will come true. You will die, in your big, dirty, empty house, just as your wife did."

Lucius rose and turned, and Shawna noticed for the first time that his left hand once again gripped his cane tightly. His grey eyes stormed, and the handsome lines of his face tightened with anger and pain.

"You will never speak of my wife again! Do you understand me? I may not be the man I once was but do trust me, Chief Counselor Shawna," the words rolled off his tongue and hissed through his teeth, "I am definitely still every bit as much the wizard I've always been."

Shawnas eyes widened as he looked menacingly over her. The shadows his hair cast across his face brought his eyes frighteningly into focus, their shining silver almost molten in his anger.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," she began in a tight voice. "It was not my intention to upset you; I merely meant to point out to you that you're a man who wants what he wants, and you'll never be happy without achieving your goals. I want you to be better, and so does your son."

At this, Lucius turned his face up to the ceiling, and his lip curled. It was a popcorn ceiling—how grossly inappropriate.

"I will not sit and be attacked by anyone. If someone in this facility has an issue they need to discuss with me, we can meet in therapy." He sneered. "Until those meetings are able to take place, and I'm confident in my safety, I'll take meals in my room."

"Of course." Chief Counselor Shawna nodded. She stood and made towards the door, but paused with her hand on the brass door knob, turning to face him once again.

"Miss Granger is first in line to speak with you, Mr. Malfoy. She seemed very concerned after what happened in the cafeteria."

Lucius cocked a brow. "And she won't...hurt herself anymore?"

"No, Mr. Malfoy. Seeing you this morning triggered a flight or fight response, and since she doesn't have a wand and there were so many people around she couldn't discern an exit. So she panicked, and she hurt herself, and she wants to apologize to you, Lucius."

He sucked in a quick breath through his aristocratic nose. "I would be...amenable to that. She needn't make an appointment with a mind healer to do this. She may...seek me out if she so wishes." Lucius' eyes sparkled with mischief and a slight blush sole over his cheeks.

Chief Counselor Shawna smiled. "I'll pass the message along, and Lucius?" She asked, finally turning the door knob.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're staying."

When she was gone, Lucius winced. It had been a hard day, and he wasn't excited about sleeping on the tiny bed he was allotted. He wasn't sure he could sleep at all.

He took his time placing his things back in their places, and as he put his photos once again in the top drawer or his dresser, he sighed. He really did miss Narcissa. They might have had an arranged marriage, but love blossomed from their engagement, and by the time their wedding took place, Lucius had been the happiest wizard alive.

Her sweet, soothing disposition, her old fashioned values, the way her alabaster skin reflected light, the sway of her hips in her nightgown when she felt naughty. It had been a long time since she'd felt like being with him, and he couldn't have blamed her for that. He didn't exactly want to look at himself either. But Narcissa—she was gorgeous, even in terror and despair, even in the face of so much. She stood so tall and regal and beautiful. So many times he'd wanted to stand behind her, let her lean into him, wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck. He wanted to hold her like he should've so many times before and never did.

Yes, Lucius missed his wife more than anything, but he missed the intimacy even more than the woman herself. Their sex wasn't explosive, but it was loving and Lucius has made sure they were both satisfied from every encounter. Afterwards, however, he'd always rolled away and fell asleep, his arms full of cold desolate nothing. Lucius didn't know if he could ever forgive himself for that.

He slept fitfully, waking and dozing through nightmares and blissful dreams, alternating between sweaty terror and sweet agony.

When he woke fully around six o'clock, it was to a small bell being chimed, announcing breakfast had begun. Lucius wasn't sure why, but he knew the Mind Menagerie didn't use house elves, opting instead for the employment of several unpleasant witches, warlocks, and squibs. His lip curled—he hoped they wouldn't let squibs cook their meals.

He stood from the uncomfortable bed and heard his back pop pop pop in protest. He groaned, stretching down to touch his toes before standing straight to reach for the sky. Another series of pops accompanied the move, and a grimace touched his lips.

Lucius knew he needed to regain muscle and fat, and while he knew the food here would help all in its own, he was excited to begin exercising again. Excited might've been the wrong word, since he also dreaded it. He wanted to be completely healthy when he left the Mind Menagerie. However, there was an ever present sense of unease and panic at the thought of being outside—defenseless, no less.

His heart gave a mighty thump and he grunted, taking in a sharp breath through his nose.

He dressed quickly, donning one of his silver sweatshirts, the Malfoy crest taking up a small space over his left pec.

He waited for his breakfast for a long time—longer than he thought he would. When would his meal be brought to him? Who would bring it? And would they hurry the hell up? He was starving, and he had a few questions.

Knock knock.

Lucius moved swiftly to the door, eager to see just what had been brought to him. When he pulled the cheap door open, he was surprised to see a slim figure with curly hair smiling shyly at him, holding a tray in each hand.

"Hi, Mr. Malfoy. I brought you breakfast." Hermione Granger said.


End file.
